Complicated And Completely Unexpected
by Destiny-Scouts
Summary: Hermione's about to get her feelings returned. Problem is, it's not who she expected. She didn't expect to fall in love. And she certainly didn't expect this. Hermione and ? (for me to know hehehe) -Neriede
1. Keepsakes

Okay, let me get something out of my system before I start writing. The pairing that shall result in this story is one that I _profoundly_ cannot stand. But, due to my awful weirdness, I decided to write this anyway and dedicate it to my long-time friend Melissa! Go Melissa! Now on with the story!

**A/N:** If you see ?-! it signifies that I've put a question mark next to an exclamation mark. This is my way around weird and annoying editing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the amazing characters made up by the genius J.K. Rowling. I do however own my sanity…no wait…I lost that….never mind….

Keepsakes

Alright, I'll admit it. He's somewhat attractive. I admit that he has the greenest eyes I've ever seen (or is it Jade?) and those strands of messy, black hair frame them so nicely and Quidditch really has done something with his physique and oops…I'm rambling. The point is though, just because he's the first boy who's ever made my heart quirk whenever he passes by and my best friend does _not_ mean that I'm in love with him. Besides, he's never seen me as anything else besides that, a _friend_, and will most likely never see me as anything more.

And why would I care if he didn't like me that way anyway? It's not like I _want_ him to. Not like my breath catches in my chest whenever he whips by me on his broomstick, the other contenders in the stands around me yelling about his catch of the Snitch. Not like there are countless ink smudges on my notebooks that vaguely resemble the words "Harry Potter". Not like I sometimes find myself imagining little bushy, black haired kids running around a backyard lawn. Not like that at all.

Okay, scratch that. So what if the last four sentences aren't true? It still doesn't prove anything. In fact, I'll make a list of reasons why I don't like Harry in that way.

1) There is nothing between us that could be called "intimacy".

2) He's got better taste in girls than the likes of me

3) Any relationship we might form would most likely not work (I don't have a reason for this yet. I'm saying this because I'm trying to come up with reasons I'm not in love with him….apparently it's not working but I'll keep trying)

4) Ron would never let me live it down

5) Taped glasses? (although I can't really say they don't make him look rather cute at times)

6) I'm not saying that I noticed, but he smells absolutely lovely; I think it resembles something like crisp, morning air

7) The way he strokes Hedwig at the table during breakfast if certainly something I could stare at all day

8) He's sexy

Hold it right there! This is turning into a list of why I _would_ be in love with him. And…did I really come up with that last one?-! Oh dear…this is definitely not what I expected. Well maybe I did expect this, somewhere in the back of my mind.

But come on though, it's not sensible for me to fret over something like this. People fall in love everyday. It's common everyplace you could possibly go and could happen to anyone. It is completely and utterly normal. Nothing to get hysterical over….

WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT?-! Falling in love may happen everyday, but it's not everyday that _I_ fall in love! And it's especially not everyday that I realize that I've fallen in love with Harry Potter, the boy who lived and the boy who's saved my life more times than I can count!

Uh oh. I just…did I…? Did I just say that I truly and _really_ LOVE Harry? Did I just prove the very thing what I was trying to deny? I think I did. And come to think about it…I don't think I mind.


	2. Keen

Sorry it's so LATE. I got writer's block _right_ after I started this story, so sorry about that.

Keen

I think I'm going to lose it eventually. After my horrible episode yesterday arguing with myself, I don't know what it was, but he seemed to be _everywhere_. I'd turn the corner and there'd he be, smiling at me and asking me if I was fine. Next he'd be waiting in the door of the Great Hall during lunch, arguing with Ron over simple, trivial things. _Then _he was at the bottom of the stairs in the common room, and I just stared at him like an idiot.

He…he stared back for some reason, and I couldn't do anything, I felt so stupid. I'm sure my cheeks where red or at least pink and that I looked really obvious.

"Are you alright Hermione?"

He talked to me! Upon which I gave him the most moronic response.

"I DON'T KNOW WHERE RON HID YOUR SLIPPERS!"

Clapping my hand over my mouth did not change the fact that I'd already said it. A feeling of dread and fear had gripped me and I watched helplessly as he blinked and took a surprised step back.

"Wha-what? I don't know what you're…Ron hid my slippers?"

Then he ran off and this is where I am now, still standing on the steps and slamming the cover of _Advanced Spells for the High Achiever _against my forehead in a sorry attempt to fix that horrendous outcome. No doubt he's gone to yell at Ron. He has been saying that his feet have been cold in the morning and he's going to want his slippers back. Oh, and note to self: You. Are. Hopeless.

STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! That's not like you at all! How are you supposed to face him after that?-! You didn't even think at all before you idiotically blew your mouth off!

Which I have to say is pretty pathetic. If this is what love does to me on a 24-hour basis, then I don't like it all. Well at least what it's doing to me anyway. I can't believe I've sunk like this. I'm supposed to be the one who can take everything calmly and understand what to do with any problem given to me.

But then again, the subject of Harry is not a very easy one to analyze. He's very...protective of what goes on in that head of his. I have a strong feeling that he's not telling us something. Something really big that he's once again left the responsibility of carrying all to himself. I swear, if all the secrets he carries on his back were material, I'm sure his shoulders and spine would crack under the pressure.

It's not like I'm just out of the blue suddenly accusing him though, he does slip occasionly and show that he has a heavy burden. Once, two years ago, after the whole Department of Mysteries ordeal, I couldn't find him anywere in the castle. I thought that maybe something bad had happened to him so I went about calling his name. Eventually a portrait told me to shut up, that Hary was with Dumbledore, and that he shouldn't be disturbed. When I turned around to look at it I almost _screamed_ because I thought I was looking at Sirius.

The painting seemed very distraight about something and hurried off somewhere after that. Come to think of it, I think I remember seeing that same painting somehwere else before...Anyway, Harry never mentioned that Dumbledore had been talking to him after Ron and me found him wandering almost aimlessly about the courtyard field. And it's been _two_ years! Have I actually reduced myself to falling in love with a guy like Harry and hitting myself senseless with a very thick book?

Yes. Yes I have. And it _really_ is beginning to hurt. The book I mean, not the falling in love part. Which I have been crashing against my forehead for the past three minutes.

"Doesn't That hurt?"

Uh oh.

The book freezes millimeters from my face then slowly lowers. Ron's red hair begins to loom over the top of the cover as he looks laughingly at me, as if expecting to find an explanation to the cold dread on my face.

"What exactly are you doing?"

"...Hitting myself on the head..."

_You asked me a question and I answered it. Please go away._

Obviously, it's not enough for him. 

"Why?"

Sneaky, nosy, little...

"Aren't those Harry's slippers?" I notice suddenly.

He blinks once and looks at me. Then he laughs. Very loudly might I add, and it's making me feel more uncomfortable about the whole situation. The slippers are slung over his shoulder and are dropped as he bends down, clutching his sides, laughter escaping uncontroallably from his mouth.

My discomfort soon turns to anger. What could possibly be so funny? I suspress my urge to throw the book and shut him up for two reasons: 1) It's sort of unorthodox for me to hurt someone unless they truely deserve it, and 2) If I hurt him he won't tell me why he's laughing.

"I-I'm sorry..." he begins to wipe a tear from his eye.

"No you're not." I say matter-of-factly.

That stupid, smug look on his face increases in intensity, annoying me greatly.

His laughter begins to die finally, "You're right, I'm not," he straightens as I throw him a look of total agravation, "It's just so funny."

Whatever he's finding funny is likely at my expense. Ron's like that; whenever someone experiences minor suffering (or major suffering in Malfoy's case) he always laughs at them, doing and saying whatever he can to humiliate the victim even further.

"It's always Harry, isn't it? It's always him who draws your attention from whatever you're doing."

Oh God, no. Please don't let him—

"It's really obvious that you like him."

—know. Crap, too late.

"Don't worry, I won't tell,"

Really?

"…Anyone who doesn't happen to cross my path."

I aim for his head and throw the book.

§ § §

I'm still a little upset about the whole Ron thing but it doesn't seem like he's told anyone yet. That's a very big yet. Somehow I don't think that big mouth of his is going to stay shut for very long.

"Um, Hermione, can I ask you something?"

"Neville? Yeah, sure."

"D-do you know where the Quidditch field is?"

"The Quidditch field? But don't you know where that is?"

"I've…I've forgotten…"

I raise an eyebrow. This is pretty strange. I look at Neville questioningly and notice that he's trembling all over, his bottom lip tucked in a less than neatly way below his upper one. He keeps wringing his hands, over and over. Probably nervous about something.

"Is something bothering you?"

"No! Well, yes actually. I'm…"

He stops and quickly looks around. All appearing to look safe to him he continues, whispering in a low tone.

"I'm trying out for the Quidditch team."

I contain a small laugh. Is that all? I don't understand why he's so nerve-wracked about it.

"Really Neville? That's great! But what's wrong? You're not usually nervous at all."

In all honesty, this is true. Neville used to be so clumsy outside most of his classes, and during them he was almost always worse. Especially potions. Potions had always been his worst subject. Now that I think about though, is still is.

But he's been doing a whole lot better since fifth year. After our near brush with death in the Ministry of Magic, he's decided to take a lot of his problems by the horns and wrestle them to the ground. And wrestle them he has.

His grades have been improving drastically and he's become quite a proficient spell caster. I can't see what would bother him so much about trying for the Quidditch team. Unless…

"I heard Professor Snape is going to be there."

Oh dear. Now that is a problem. Professor Snape is perhaps the only teacher who can still make Neville accidentally trip over his own ankles and overturn three cauldrons at once in the process. It doesn't happen as often as it did in fifth year but still, having Snape overseeing Neville's performance on the ground wouldn't be as bad as having him do it while Neville was about fifty feet in the air, where accidents were a bit more damaging were they to happen.

"And there's going to be Slytherin tryouts going on at the same time."

"Can they do that?"

"Snape's authorizing it. That's why he chose to oversee the whole thing."

I wonder…if there are tryouts for spots on the Gryffindor team, then won't Harry be there? He is after all the captain. Maybe if I…

"Why don't I go with you? You know, for moral support."

This gets a smile out of him. He stops fidgeting and puts on a hopeful face. Somehow this gives me a sinking feeling.

"Really? You don't have anything else to do?"

I shake my head and his smile widens. I don't know why buy guilt suddenly takes a drop down my throat and into my stomach, making a harsh landing. A single bead of sweat drops down behind my ear.

I swallow hard, "So what are we waiting for? When's tryouts?"

* * *

Hey everyone. Again, SO sorry it's so late. This story is going _real_ slow for me. But then again, so are my other stories….but hey, four hours out of each of my weekdays is a big chunk for me and seeing as how I can't write my stories while I work at the office, I'm going to have to…..um I don't know. I'll see what I can do okay? 


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